


Loyalties

by MrSpockify



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Agni Kai (Avatar), Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, just straight up, or hurt with just a little comfort, well not really implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24829267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSpockify/pseuds/MrSpockify
Summary: He remembered thinking, right before it happened, that a truly loyal son would not have flinched away.
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Ozai & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 417





	Loyalties

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a comment I saw on tumblr from @muffinlance. My thought process was pretty much just "let's see, how sad can I make Zuko's story?"

When Zuko was seven years old, his father took over his firebending lessons. He wasn’t good enough, not making enough progress. Something needed to be done, apparently.

So Zuko showed up to his first lesson standing tall, tiny body filled with pride and promise and excitement. He wanted to show his father that he could be better. He repeated every movement and form over and over and over, as many times as his father requested. He kept going, even after his limbs started shaking, even after his lungs ached, even after his vision blurred and he tumbled briefly to the ground. He stood back up and tried again, but it wasn’t good enough. He didn’t get a single kata right the entire lesson.

Zuko went to bed that night and hid under the covers, muffling his sobs beneath swollen, blistered hands.

* * *

When he was nine years old, Zuko ran full speed into his visiting uncle, nearly tackling him to the floor in his excitement. He squealed, truly an undignified noise from someone with royal blood, but he didn’t have it in his heart to care in the moment. His Uncle Iroh just laughed heartily and scooped him up into a full-bodied hug.

They didn’t often get to visit each other, but Zuko loved the time he did get to spend with his uncle. He was kind and gentle and funny, even if Zuko didn’t always understand all the jokes he told. His uncle had stopped by to take Zuko on a trip with his cousin.

At the prospect of a vacation, Zuko squealed again, wiggling out of his uncle’s arms and running to pack his things. He tossed a few items into a bag and hurried as quickly as his body would move to get back. Just before turning the last corner, he paused, hearing his uncle speaking in a calm voice.

“It would just be for a few days. I assure you he will be back before you know it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” a voice Zuko recognized as his father’s spat. “You can’t just come here and take him whenever you want.”

“I did write to you before coming.”

“And I didn’t have an opportunity to write back to tell you no,” he father replied, venom dripping from every word.

Suddenly filled with more rage than his small body knew how to handle, Zuko rushed out from behind the corner and puffed out his chest.

“I want to go with Uncle!”

Both men turned to look at the child in surprise, though there was a hint of fear in Uncle Iroh’s eyes Zuko wasn’t sure what to make of.

“You’re not going with him,” his father said, a finality in his voice that would usually be the end of any conversation. But for some reason, Zuko felt compelled to keep going. Some part of him felt like this was important.

“Yes, I am.” He clenched his fists tightly, mostly to hide the way they were trembling.

His father looked at him with such contempt that Zuko was sure he would shrivel up and die right then and there. 

“You are staying here,” his father insisted, his voice unnervingly quiet, “because you still haven’t gotten a single bending form right. How many now has Azula mastered since the last time we went over this?” Zuko felt his cheeks heat up and he looked to the floor when his uncle glanced his way. “You’re not going with him because you haven’t _earned_ it.”

“But—”

“Zuko,” his uncle intervened, “there will be plenty of opportunities in the future. It is alright.” His smile was placating, but there was something beneath it Zuko didn’t understand. He huffed out a breath and screwed up his features.

“I want to go with you!” Zuko was shouting now. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He didn’t want to be with his father. “Please take me with you!”

“ _Enough_!” His father’s voice boomed, sending a shock of fear through his body. Zuko tried again to run up to his uncle, but his wrist was snatched by his father and suddenly he was being dragged away.

“Ozai, he’s just upset,” his uncle tried, hesitantly holding out a hand. Zuko tried to grab it but he was already too far away. He was pulled around the corner, and his uncle disappeared from sight.

“Please stop,” he cried, tripping over his own feet in his effort to keep up with how quickly his father was walking. The skin under his father’s hand started to grow warmer and warmer until he felt it blistering under the heat. He cried harder and tried to pull away, and his father stopped, stooping down to his level.

“Do you still want to go with him?” His father looked straight into his eyes, the anger burning through Zuko in a different way. He tried to control the sobbing, but couldn’t keep himself from twisting his arm around in an attempt to free his wrist from its locked, sweltering position. He shook his head. “Speak up!”

“No, I don’t want to go with him,” Zuko wept. He placed his own hand over his father’s, feeling the heat beneath his fingertips. “I want to stay here. I want to stay with you.” His father tightened his grip momentarily, then released him. Just as quickly, he grabbed the collar of Zuko’s shirt and dragged him the rest of the way to his room, shoving him in and slamming the door shut.

Zuko stayed collapsed on the floor, shaking and struggling to keep his breathing under control as he sobbed openly now that he was all alone. His arm rested on the cold tile floor, but he only allowed himself a few minutes of suffering before he pulled himself up and went into the washroom.

Silently, with only the occasional hiccup as he struggled to keep his crying under control, Zuko collected a few healing ointments and some gauze. As gently as he could manage, he dabbed at the burn, hissing as pain shot up his arm. He bit his lip and let tears fall down his cheeks while he wrapped up his wrist. It wasn’t pretty or well-done, but Zuko crawled into bed anyway and tried to fall asleep. He dreamt of being somewhere else, safe and happy.

* * *

Azula only really burned Zuko once while growing up. He was twelve and they were sparring, and as much as he wanted to win he couldn’t actually bring himself to try his hardest—not that he was positive he could even beat her if he _didn’t_ hold back, but still. She was only ten. She was a child.

Zuko went through some basic moves, doing pretty well all things considered. But Azula was better in practically every way. She saw every move before he made it and anticipated exactly how to counter it. After several minutes Zuko could feel his body wearing down, and he wondered if his sister was feeling it, too. Didn’t she ever get tired?

One particularly well-timed kick sent Zuko reeling back, and when he fell to the floor he stayed there.

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up and breathing heavily. “I think that’s— _Azula_!” Zuko barely managed to roll over to avoid a strong blast of fire. The skin on his face was warm from how close it had come. Azula smiled, something sinister beneath it that made Zuko shiver.

“Not giving up so soon, are you?” She held a small blue flame in her hand at the ready.

“We’re done.” Zuko stood. He wanted to be firm in his conviction, but when Azula took a step towards him he stumbled back a little. She laughed.

“We’re done when I say we’re done,” she mocked. His father told him that all the time during their lessons. Zuko knew his sister knew this.

“Azula, stop,” he said, cursing the way his voice wavered. She lunged, and he had enough time to put his hands in front of his face to catch the brunt of the flame. The strangled noise that left his throat pulled another laugh from his sister. He stilled and looked at the enflamed skin spread across his palms, hearing the sound of Azula’s laughter fade as she walked away.

Zuko went to his room and did his best to clean and wrap up his hands. He flexed them under the bandages, wincing at the way his skin stung with every movement.

An hour later, he showed up to his firebending lesson. If his father noticed his hands, he didn’t say anything. He was tired and he performed poorly the entire time, but he knew he couldn’t quit. Zuko would be done when his father said he was done.

* * *

Zuko refused treatment for as long as he could before his uncle had had enough. He laid on his new bed in his new room on his new ship—his new _home_. If it was up to him, he would simply lie here until he wasted away. It’s what he deserved.

Zuko said nothing as his uncle bustled past the guards, dismissing them and shutting the door behind him. He looked at his nephew and sighed softly before sitting beside him on the bed, setting a few supplies down.

He knew he must look awful. He could feel the wound on his face festering, left alone for far too long. His eye refused to open, swelled shut and blistering over. The skin throbbed along with his heartbeat. His hair kept catching on dried blood and scabs, pulling free every time he moved and opening up fresh gashes. He felt ugly and shameful and he didn’t want his uncle to see him like this, but there was no stopping him at this point.

The hands on his face were so gentle it made him want to cry. Fingers dabbed ointment onto his skin with such tenderness he barely felt it—or, perhaps, the nerves were so damaged he was just losing feeling.

Zuko closed his good eye to keep from crying. His father had never been so careful with him. Even with his son on his knees, crying and begging for mercy, his father had taken the opportunity to teach him a lesson.

He had seen the flame form in his father’s hand. He had known exactly what was coming before it happened. Zuko remembered the feeling in his stomach, of his entire life falling down around him in an instant. The fire came closer, and Zuko had instinctively recoiled.

That had been the wrong thing to do. His father had grabbed him by his hair, flexing fingers against his scalp as a warning not to do it again. That this could be worse, so much worse, if he fought any harder. Zuko remembered the guilt that had washed over him, swallowed away only by the pain that came next.

He remembered thinking, right before it happened, that a truly loyal son would not have flinched away.

The feeling of a calloused thumb swiping across his right cheek made Zuko open his good eye again. His uncle hovered over him and wiped away another tear. Zuko clenched his jaw and turned onto his side, away from the comfort. The kindness in his uncle’s eyes made his stomach churn. He didn’t deserve it.

His uncle cleaned up the few items he had brought and silently left, leaving his nephew to curl up on himself. Zuko closed his eyes and forced himself not to cry.

He didn’t deserve it.


End file.
